Midnight Tracks
by WonderWitch123
Summary: Oliver gets caught running midnight training sessions


**QLFC: Chaser 2 - Edgar Cloggs (ghost)**

 **Prompts: (word) eager, (dialogue) "Please tell me you're being ironic", (word) sinking**

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Midnight Tracks

Oliver held his breath as he closed the huge, wooden door behind him. It would be so easy to let the door slip from his little fingers and clang loudly back into place, but he couldn't let that happen. No one could ever know that twice a week, first year Gryffindor Oliver Wood, would sneak down to the Quidditch Pitch, break into the broom storage cupboard, and practice.

He knew he was too young to be on any of the teams, no matter how good he was first years couldn't even attend try-outs, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be the best damn second year keeper that Hogwarts had ever seen.

He scurried across the expanse of lawn, hoping that no one was watching out of the windows, and rushed into the shadowed cover of the Quidditch stands. He crept past the beams, he had done it so often in the last few months that he didn't even need to use _Lumos_ before the little first year had navigated his way to the locked broom cupboard.

Within seconds Oliver had picked the lock, using a technique his muggle friends had taught him, and he had a broom between his legs and the wind in his hair. It was a rush, utterly and completely. His heart was in his mouth and his knees were completely weak but his grip was strong and the excitement overrode any fear.

Oliver spent hours flying in the moonlight, he attended every Gryffindor training sessions and took notes so that he could practice later. He did drills and speed trials and everything that he possibly could do in order to make sure he was prepared. Oliver even snuck into their theory meetings so he could learn about the strategy of the game. One day, he wanted to be captain of this team.

"Hey! Who is that? You shouldn't be up there!"

Oliver gasped and looked down briefly, a prefect stood in the centre of the pitch but he couldn't tell what house they belonged to. The eager excitement that had bubbled in his throat became a sinking feeling that threatened to send him into a spiral nose dive of despair. Without thinking he dove for the safety of the stands jumping off the broom and hid in the dark. He didn't know if he could make it to the exit without being seen, he'd never had to navigate this part of the stands before in the dark and he was liable to knock himself out before escaping.

"Come out! I know where you went, I can just come and find you. It'll be better for you if I take you back rather than having to summon a teacher."

Oliver hesitated. He knew that the prefect was right, but he still couldn't bring himself to turn himself over.

"It was me!"

Both Oliver and the prefect jumped as a silvery blur sped across the pitch and came to a stop in front of the prefect. It was a ghost, the ghost of a man dressed in full Quidditch gear with a silvery, transparent broom clutched in one hand and a thick moustache on his face.

After the initial shock the prefect laughed once. "Really, Edgar. Please tell me you're being ironic." He looked the ghost up and down. "I can tell my ghosts apart from my humans, and you don't look like a small, Gryffindor student."

"Sure I do!" he man insisted smiling broadly. "Did you know that when ghosts fly in front of the moon we look human again? Something about the silver."

"Oh, really. Well," the prefect gestured broadly, "why don't you go ahead and show me."

Edgar hesitated. "Well… no, actually I won't. I don't want to show you because you were so nasty to me."

"Listen, kid," the prefect turned away from the ghost of Edgar Cloggs and looked towards where Oliver was hiding. "If you come out now, I'll only take away points, no detention. No one ever has to know you picked the lock, we'll close it all back up, get you back into bed, and then tomorrow you can come down the pitch in the day light and I'll train you up. How does that sound?"

Oliver sighed, it was the best outcome he was ever going to get, and probably far more than he deserved. Hanging his head slightly in shame, Oliver popped up, emerged from his hiding spot and began to climb down the stairs.

When he reached the pitch he could see that the prefect was in fact Charlie Weasley, a 5th year student who was the best seeker that Hogwarts had seen in generations. Suddenly, Oliver was a lot more excited about getting a personal training session with him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I just, don't learn much in flying lessons that I don't already know."

"I know; I've seen you at practice. You're eager to learn and you've got a hell of a lot of talent. But, you know I can't let you out here alone at night. It's against all the rules and if someone else had caught you you'd be in a lot more trouble."

"Don't worry, boy!" Edgar boomed, making Oliver jump. He had forgotten that the ghost was still here. "My good friend Charlie here will turn you into a star, just like I did him," he leant close and smiled, "I don't show up for just anyone, you know. I reveal myself to the best and I think you, young student, are going to go far."


End file.
